I slumber throught my years.
Like the desert moves with the wind.
Frozen and flickering, the lustful year
has met its end.
A wanderer I am indeed.....
the son of the moon.....
and I will carry mountains soon.
A burden I was for those who woke the sun
I threw their masks away, lit my torches,
and burned their eyes.....
Forgiven I never was.
But I will carry mountains soon.
A burden, is it not?